I have these recurring images going through my head at all hours of the day. They’re not all traumatic. When I’m shaving I think of this guy I knew at NYU who was on the receiving end of the most pejorative interpellation I’ve ever witnessed. And when I’m brushing my dentures I always think about my dear old drum teacher who was losing his sight the whole time I was with him and I never even noticed. Sometimes I think of the magical autumn when I first realized I was becoming dead inside.

I can never bear to bring up my diagnosis in my nurse practitioner’s office. It’s almost like “schizophrenia” is a great gift and if I pronounce the word I’ll jinx it.

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